Keepsake
by Shuukaku92
Summary: "This time, the summons caught me unawares. In the precious seconds left to me, I considered what guise to appear in. A classical monstrosity, or perhaps something more refined. Something recognizable for the magician...and for me." Oneshot, post PG.


**Keepsake**

This time, the summons caught me unawares.

Of course, you're never able to predict when the next power-hungry magician decides to enslave your essence, tearing it away form the Other Place like an infant from its mother's breast, but I'd reckoned I had at least a good century before someone uncovered my name once more, rather than a meagre _two years_.

Especially since the last thing the world saw of yours truly was a heroic performance, a selfless sacrifice to valiantly save a horde of panic-stricken commoners. After which I got blasted to bits, followed by a building falling on top of me, finishing with entrapment under a pile of iron.

In short, I'd figured that they'd figured that I was dead, giving me a nice break of summons. The only person who could reveal that I had escaped was most likely buried under said pile of iron.

I didn't bother resisting. Instead, I used the precious seconds left to me to come up with an interesting guise. The summons was strong, determined. A practiced magician. No use then to bother with theatrics; he'd probably seen it all. Something more subtle and refined would do a better job at unnerving the magician. I considered Ptolemy's form, comfortably familiar and often effective at unearthing a man with his ageless serenity and bottomless dark eyes. Or perhaps the fierce appearance of Kitty Jones, a common, down-to-earth shape that lacks enough of the usual glamour to catch a sorcerer unawares.

Then another idea crossed my mind.

At earth, a sudden darkness crept into the summoning room. Candles flickered in a gust of wind, causing the incense smoke to coil up and around in wild twitches, like a lizard's cut-off tail. The magician shivered in her pentacle, as a chill filled the room, sending an intricate lacing of frost flowers creeping up the bare window. Briefly, the colours on the first to third plane went haywire, tripling the room through her lenses. Mist rose up in the vacant pentacle across the room, a white nothingness boiling angrily in its chalky prison.

Then suddenly, it drew away. Two gleaming patent leather shoes stepped out, gingerly landing on the hardwood floor. A slender form in smart black suit (1) emerged, collar casually unbuttoned, dark hair cropped short in military fashion.

I had doubted which version to use; as a kid, I had liked him best (2), as he still had some conscience, some initiative. But, I suppose, at seventeen he had achieved the most, repeating what only one master had done for me before. Plus, even this skinny little adolescent was slightly more intimidating than a scrawny 12-year old.

The magician across of me was certainly caught unawares; clearly, she had expected a common-or-garden monstrosity to go with the clichéd entrance. In its stead, a calm, collected youth stared back from the pentacle, his confidence and air of authority betraying him to be a magician himself. Only the keen glint in his dark eyes was just a bit too inhuman to belong to a magician; it spoke of 5,000 years of experience, of the chaotic knowledge found only in the Other Plane, not in a dusty library. It stared at the woman with the same calculating look that he had given me so often, the one that meant I was only one simple assignment away from dismissal. These assignments usually involved, but were not limited to, the spying on the strongest magicians in the country, the stealing of artefacts strong enough to bring down Whitehall, the fighting of 3 metre djinn-crushing golems or simply the trailing of ferocious demon-magician hybrids. Several near-death experiences were a given.

Adjusting his cuffs, the youth clasped his hands behind his back, flashing a brief, charming smile before giving a small nod. Casually, as if the summons was all part of his plan, he spoke. "You called?"

I can't say I felt any love or friendship for the boy. He was a cold, ruthless master that had worn down my essence to the core. He was proud and petty, always rising to the bait of my wit (3). But I guess, in the end, he did act differently from any other magician, foolishly going against any sense of self-preservation that was left in him. Well, he didn't get that trait from me, that's for sure. It was the most lame-brained thing he ever did, but it made remember him a little (4) bit more fondly than my other masters. Wearing his form made me feel oddly melancholic.

But it suited me well in my eternal quest to unnerve, or at least, annoy, my masters. That was my reason for using it. Djinn don't do keepsakes.

1 Probably a little outdated by now, but it was _his _style. Besides, I'm not one to keep up with Earth's fashion anyway.

2 Or disliked him the least, I should say.

3 Yes, every time. Without fail.

4 Very, _very,_ little


End file.
